Thomas Dekker

“ Nay, you’re a couple of wild bears, I’ll have ye both baited at one stake: but as for this knave, the gallows is thy due, and the gallows thou shall have, I’ll have justice of the duke, the law shall have thy life—What, dost thou hold him? let go, his hand. If thou dost not forsake him, a father’s everlasting blessing fall upon both your heads! Away, go, kiss out of my sight, play thou the whore no more, nor thou the thief again; my house shall be thine, my meat shall be thine, and so shall my wine, but my money shall be mine, and yet when I die, so thou dost not fly high, take all ”

“ L. Mayor. Stay, stay, Sir Knave!
Lincoln. Come hither, shoemaker!
Firk. ’Tis happy the knave is put before the shoemaker, or else I would not have vouchsafed to come back to you. I am moved, for I stir.
L. Mayor. My lord, this villain calls us knaves by craft.
Firk. Then ’tis by the gentle craft, and to call one knave gently, is no harm. Sit your worship merry! [91] Syb, your young mistress—I’ll so bob them, now my Master Eyre is lord mayor of London.
L. Mayor. Tell me, sirrah, who’s man are you? ”

“ Bots, you know her?
Bots. Is there any gentleman here, that knows not a whore, and is he a hair the worse for that?
Duke. Is she a city-dame, she’s so attired?
1st Mast. No, my good lord, that’s only but the veil
To her loose body, I have seen her here
In gayer masking suits, as several sauces
Give one dish several tastes, so change of habits
In whores is a bewitching art: to day
She’s all in colours to besot gallants, then
In modest black, to catch the citizen,
And this from their examination’s drawn. ”

“ You sing, Sir Sauce, but I beshrew your heart,
I fear, for this your singing we shall smart.
Firk. Smart for me, dame; why, dame, why?
Hodge. Master, I hope you’ll not suffer my dame to take down your journeymen.
Firk. If she take me down, I’ll take her up; yea, and take her down too, a button-hole lower.
Eyre. Peace, Firk; not I, Hodge; by the life of Pharaoh, by the Lord of Ludgate, by this beard, every hair whereof I value at a king’s ransom, she shall not meddle with you.—Peace, you bombast-cotton-candle-quean; away, queen of clubs; quarrel not with me and my men, with me and my fine Firk ”

“ I fear thou hast death’s mark upon thee too.
Frank. I know them both; yet such an oath is passed
As pulls damnation up if it be broke.
I dare not name ’em: think what forced men do.
O. Thor. Keep oath with murderers! that were a conscience
To hold the devil in.
Frank. Nay, sir, I can describe ’em,
Shall show them as familiar as their names:
The taller of the two at this time wears
His satin doublet white, but crimson-lined,
Hose of black satin, cloak of scarlet—
O. Thor. Warbeck,
Warbeck, Warbeck!—do you list to this, sir?
Car. Yes, yes, I listen you; here’s nothing to be heard. ”

“ Hodge. No, Ralph, let me.—Hammon, whither away so early?
Ham. Unmannerly, rude slave, what’s that to thee?
Firk. To him, sir? Yes, sir, and to me, and others. Good-morrow, Jane, how dost thou? Good Lord, how the world is changed with you! God be thanked!
Ham. Villains, hands off! How dare you touch my love?
All. Villains? Down with them! Cry clubs for prentices! [100]
Hodge. Hold, my hearts! Touch her, Hammon? Yea, and more than that: we’ll carry her away with us. My masters and gentlemen, never draw your bird-spits; shoemakers are steel to the back, men every inch of them, all spirit. ”

“ Fort. That’s not my fault; age is like love, it cannot be hid.
Shad. Or like gunpowder a-fire, or like a fool, or like a young novice new come to his lands: for all these will show of what house they come. Now, sir, you may amplify.
Fort. Shadow, turn thy tongue to a shadow, be silent! Boys, be proud, your father hath the whole world in this compass, I am all felicity, up to the brims. In a minute [Pg 326] am I come from Babylon, I have been this half-hour in Famagosta.
Andel. How? in a minute, father? Ha, ha, I see travellers must lie.
Shad. ’Tis their destiny: the Fates do so conspire. ”

“ L. Mayor. Will you still cross me, still be obstinate?
Ham. Nay, chide her not, my lord, for doing well;
If she can live an happy virgin’s life,
’Tis far more blessed than to be a wife.
Rose. Say, sir, I cannot: I have made a vow,
Whoever be my husband, ’tis not you.
L. Mayor. Your tongue is quick; but Master Hammon, know,
I bade you welcome to another end.
Ham. What, would you have me pule and pine and pray,
With ‘lovely lady,’ ‘mistress of my heart,’
‘Pardon your servant,’ and the rhymer play,
Railing on Cupid and his tyrant’s-dart ”

“ Because thy pride is to wear base attire,
Because thine eyes flame not with amorous fire.
Virtue. Virtue is fairest in a poor array.
Fortune. Poor fool, ’tis not this badge of purity,
Nor Sibi sapit, painted on thy breast,
Allures mortality to seek thy love.
No: now the great wheel of thy globe hath run,
And met this first point of creation.
On crutches went this world but yesterday,
Now it lies bed-rid, and is grown so old,
That it’s grown young; for ’tis a child again,
A childish soul it hath, ’tis a mere fool:
And fools and children are well pleased with toys. ”

“ Ham. Hold, fool! Sirs, he shall do no wrong.
Will my Jane leave me thus, and break her faith?
Firk. Yea, sir! She must, sir! She shall, sir! What then? Mend it!
Hodge. Hark, fellow Ralph, follow my counsel: set the wench in the midst, and let her choose her man, and let her be his woman.
Jane. Whom should I choose? Whom should my thoughts affect
But him whom Heaven hath made to be my love?
Thou art my husband, and these humble weeds
Makes thee more beautiful than all his wealth. ”

“ Firk. Did she give thee this gold? O glorious glittering gold! She’s thine own, ’tis thy wife, and she loves thee; for I’ll stand to’t, there’s no woman will give gold to any man, but she thinks better of him, than she thinks of them she gives silver to. And for Hammon, neither Hammon nor hangman shall wrong thee in London. Is not our old master Eyre, lord mayor? Speak, my hearts.
All. Yes, and Hammon shall know it to his cost.
Enter Hammon, his Serving-man, Jane and Others.
Hodge. Peace, my bullies; yonder they come.
Ralph. Stand to’t, my hearts. Firk, let me speak first. ”

“ A courtier, or no man must please your eye.
Eyre. Be ruled, sweet Rose: th’art ripe for a man. Marry not with a boy that has no more hair on his face than thou hast on thy cheeks. A courtier, wash, go by, stand not upon pishery-pashery: those silken fellows are but painted images, outsides, outsides, Rose; their inner linings are torn. No, my fine mouse, marry me with a gentleman grocer like my lord mayor, your father; a grocer is a sweet trade: plums, plums. Had I a son or daughter should marry out of the generation and blood of the shoemakers, he should pack ”

“ Dekker, perhaps the most original and most striking figure among the lesser known men of that brilliant array which follows Marlowe, is at the same time one of the most unfortunate in his life and its artistic outcome, judged by the standard of his own genius. It was as if Fortune, to take a figure from his own play, having first presented him with the gift which, as a poet of the time, he most desired,—the playwright’s great opportunity, then turned upon him, and said,—
“But now go dwell with cares, and quickly die.” ”

“ SCENE II.—Before Candido’s Shop. Enter Candido, and Lodovico disguised as a Prentice.
Lod. Come, come, come, what do ye lack, sir? what do ye lack, sir? what is’t ye lack, sir? Is not my worship well suited? did you ever see a gentleman better disguised?
Cand. Never, believe me, signor.
Lod. Yes, but when he has been drunk. There be prentices would make mad gallants, for they would spend all, and drink, and whore, and so forth; and I see we gallants could make mad prentices. How does thy wife like me? Nay, I must not be so saucy, then I spoil all: pray you how does my mistress like me? ”

“ Enter Matheo.
How does my sweet Matheo?
Mat. Oh rogue, of what devilish stuff are these dice made of,—the parings of the devil’s corns of his toes, that they run thus damnably?
Bell. I prithee, vex not.
Mat. If any handicraft’s-man was ever suffered to keep shop in hell, it will be a dice-maker; he’s able to undo more souls than the devil; I played with mine own dice, yet lost. Ha’ you any money?
Bell. ’Las, I ha’ none.
Mat. Must have money, must have some, must have a cloak, and rapier, and things. Will you go set your lime-twigs, and get me some birds, some money? ”

“ Have English, Scot and French bowed knees to thee?
Why that’s my glory too, for by their shame,
Men will abhor thee and adore my name.
Fortune, thou art too weak, Vice, th’art a fool
To fight with me; I suffered you awhile
T’eclipse my brightness, but I now will shine,
And make you swear your beauty’s base to mine.
Fortune. Thou art too insolent; see, here’s a court
Of mortal judges; let’s by them be tried,
Which of us three shall most be deified.
Vice. I am content.
Fortune. And I.
Virtue. ”

“ Eyre. Peace, Firk; peace, my fine Firk! Stand by with your pishery-pashery, [10] away! I am a man of the best presence; I’ll speak to them, an they were Popes.—Gentlemen, captains, colonels, commanders! Brave men, brave leaders, may it please you to give me audience. I am Simon Eyre, the mad shoemaker of Tower Street; this wench with the mealy mouth that will never tire, is my wife, I can tell you; here’s Hodge, my man and my foreman; here’s Firk, my fine firking journeyman, and this is blubbered Jane. All we come to be suitors for this honest Ralph. ”

“ Bell. Thou villain, curb thy tongue! thou art a Judas,
To sell thy master’s name to slander thus.
Mat. Away, ass! He speaks but truth, thy father is a—
Bell. Gentleman.
Mat. And an old knave. There’s more deceit in him than in sixteen ’pothecaries: it’s a devil; thou mayest beg, starve, hang, damn! does he send thee so much as a cheese?
Orl. Or so much as a gammon of bacon,
He’ll give it his dogs first.
Mat. A jail, a jail.
Orl. A Jew, a Jew, sir.
Mat. A dog!
Orl. An English mastiff, sir.
Mat. Pox rot out his old stinking garbage!
Bell. Art not ashamed to strike an absent man thus? ”

“ Exeunt Hans, Rose, and Margery.
Eyre. Go, vanish, vanish! Avaunt, I say! By the Lord of Ludgate, it’s a mad life to be a lord mayor; it’s a stirring life, a fine life, a velvet life, a careful life. Well, Simon Eyre, yet set a good face on it, in the honour of Saint Hugh. Soft, the king this day comes to dine with me, to see my new buildings; his majesty is welcome, he shall have good cheer, delicate cheer, princely cheer. This day, my fellow prentices of London come to dine with me too, they shall have fine cheer, gentlemanlike cheer. ”

“ Enter Warbeck with Susan, Somerton with Katherine.
How now, girls! every day play-day with you? Valentine’s day too, all by couples? Thus will young folks do when we are laid in our graves, Master Thorney; here’s all the care they take. And how do you find the wenches, gentlemen? have they any mind to a loose gown and a strait shoe? Win ’em and wear ’em; they shall choose for themselves by my consent.
War. You speak like a kind father.—Sue, thou hear’st
The liberty that’s granted thee; what say’st thou? ”

“ Firk. Truly, I am sorry for’t; a bride’s a pretty thing.
Hodge. Come to the purpose. Yonder’s the bride and bridegroom you look for, I hope. Though you be lords, you are not to bar by your authority men from women, are you?
L. Mayor. See, see, my daughter’s masked.
Lincoln. True, and my nephew,
To hide his guilt, counterfeits him lame.
Firk. Yea, truly; God help the poor couple, they are lame and blind.
L. Mayor. I’ll ease her blindness.
Lincoln. I’ll his lameness cure.
Firk. Lie down, sirs, and laugh! My fellow Ralph is taken for Rowland Lacy, and Jane for Mistress Damask Rose. ”

“ Eyre. Let me see thy hand, Jane. This fine hand, this white hand, these pretty fingers must spin, must card, must work; work, you bombast-cotton-candle-quean; [17] work for your living, with a pox to you.—Hold thee, Ralph, here’s five sixpences for thee; fight for the honour of the gentle craft, for the gentlemen shoemakers, the courageous cordwainers, the flower of St. Martin’s, the mad knaves of Bedlam, Fleet Street, Tower Street and Whitechapel; crack me the crowns of the French knaves; a pox on them, crack them; fight, by the Lord of Ludgate; fight, my fine boy! ”

“ But to love a lady and never enjoy her, oh it is not death, but worse than damnation; ’tis hell, ’tis——
Agrip. No more, no more, good Orleans; nay then, I see my prisoner is in love too.
Cypr. Methinks, soldiers cannot fall into the fashion of love.
Agrip. Methinks a soldier is the most faithful lover of all men else; for his affection stands not upon compliment. His wooing is plain home-spun stuff; there’s no outlandish thread in it, no rhetoric. A soldier casts no figures to get his mistress’ heart; his love is like his valour in the field, when he pays downright blows. ”